


Brightly Burning

by Letters_from_the_TARDIS



Series: Burning Gold [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Season/Series 01, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Time Lady! Rose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-24 13:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10743057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letters_from_the_TARDIS/pseuds/Letters_from_the_TARDIS
Summary: Rose's life is turned upside down when she meets the third Doctor.(A rewrite of season one with a classic Doctor.)





	1. Rose Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I loved writing this. I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. :)

The Doctor   
He wearily got out of his car and unlocked the TARDIS doors. On days like this, he felt every day of his age.

  
This kind of thing reminded him that it was the curse of a Time Lord among humans to always end up alone. Why did she have to leave? She's happy, he reminded himself.

  
He paused for a long moment to bathe in the radiant glow of the TARDIS console room. Neither day nor night, the console room seemed to exist in a perpetual limbo. In some ways, it did.

  
Moving wearily over to the console, the Doctor gently patted it. “Where will we go now, old girl?” He wondered aloud. In answer, the scanner popped out of the console. He looked at the date and time displayed, and smiled. “Well, then. This will do quite nicely for a distraction.”

  
Rose  
She wanted to scream, to run, to shout. Rose was stuck here, in this dead end job day after day. Probably for the rest of her life.

  
Still, things could be worse. Things had been worse. Handprint-shaped bruises, missing cheques, and beer-laced breath in her face. Those were things she could do without.

  
Rose sighed and kept folding plaid jumpers. Each one was one closer to being out of there. She inwardly startled, then smiled. “Five minutes until store closing.” The clerk’s voice came over the intercom like the last roll of thunder in a storm.

  
Feeling a fresh surge of resolve, Rose bided her time, fiddling with the displays and trying to look busy. She'd completed all her work anyway.

  
Finally closing time rolled around, and Rose made as mad of a dash as she could for the staff room without looking unprofessional. Unprofessionalism led only one place, and that was an even more marginal job, or worse, unemployment.

  
Emerging with her prize, she all but pranced out of there. Slipping in between Shireen and Margo, Rose attempted to slip out of the doors unnoticed. She failed utterly.

  
The average-looking security guard, whose name she couldn't quite remember, proceeded to shove a plastic bag into her chest. Rose's heart sank, all hopes of a quiet escape destroyed. “What's this?” She asked, although she already had a sneaking suspicion. “The lottery money. Give it to Wilson, wouldn't ya?” The guard drawled, clearly unconcerned by Rose's discomfiture.

  
“Sure.” Rose ground out through gritted teeth, all her meagre plans for the evening going up in smokeless flames.

  
She stalked back to the rather spartan industrial lift, glaring at the shop dummies as if they personally offended her. None of them glared back, although tonight she could almost feel their creepy painted eyes following her. Like they were waiting.

  
Shaking off the uneasy feeling that gave her, she stepped into the lift. Forcefully jabbing the button, she descended into the basement. The doors slid open with an asthmatic wheeze, and she wandered into the flickering, unreliable light of the storage corridors.

  
Instantly, she was uneasy again. Something about this place always felt wrong to her. Like some malevolent force was warning her off. Trying not to break into a run, she deliberately walked up to the door marked ‘Wilson, CEO’, and knocked. “Wilson, I've got the lottery money.”

  
No answer. She counted slowly to ten, forcing herself to take a deep breath. Rose pounded on the door with an open hand, ignoring the resulting burst of pain. “Wilson! I'm on a schedule, please come and get it.”

  
A sudden noise caused her to turn away from the door, feeling distinctly edgy. She moved down the hall, towards the noise. A door hung slightly ajar, disgorging shadow. She crept in, and fumbled for the light switch. After a second, the lights stuttered into unreliable life.

  
The first thing she noticed was the mannequins. There'd never been so many, and never dressed that ugly. Why bother to dress dummies in storage, anyway? And whoever thought to pair bright orange houndstooth with grape purple plaid ought to be shot for crimes against fashion.

  
A flash of movement toward the back drew her attention. “Wilson, it's me, Rose.” Another flash of motion that was distinctly not Wilson. Rose was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Wilson was not here. Still, she tried again. “Wil-Wilson?” She stuttered uncertainly.

  
Then things began to happen very fast. Behind her, the door slammed shut with an almighty crash. Rose ran over to it, frantically attempting to escape. When she realised that she couldn't, she pounded her fists against it in frustration. Taking a calming breath, she stepped back. She just needed another door, that's all.

  
A creak echoed eerily through the silence. She whipped around fast enough to give herself whiplash. “Is someone mucking about?” Rose yelled, sounding much braver than she felt. No answer. She almost didn't expect one. Another creaking groan.

  
Obviously someone was having a laugh at her expense. “Who is it?” She demanded wildly. In front of her, a dummy stepped off its plinth, arms swinging like clockwork pendulums. Two more on either side followed suit. She laughed stiffly. “You've got me. Very funny.” The mannequins kept advancing, seemingly oblivious to her words.

  
Rose started backing up. Come to think of it, now would be a very good time for that door. Deciding to stall, because these were people, they had to be, Rose started talking. “Derek, is that you?” She asked tersely. No reply. “Alright, I got the joke.”

  
That said, she dashed for one of the smaller side doors. Rose tried it, trying not to feel desperate. Locked. She ran for the next door down, and rattled it. Also locked. Panic grabbed her chest and squeezed it in an iron vise. She bolted for the last door, her hopes fading quickly. Rose collided with it. Also locked.

  
Rose thought a few swear words that would raise the ozone layer, and turned around. The dummies were almost upon her. Rose squeezed her eyes shut, and awaited the impact. Inside her head, an insidious little voice whispered at her. What if those aren't dummies? What if you don't make it out alive? Shut up, she told it, shut up!

  
Behind her, the previously locked door banged open, and a large, cool hand took hers. Rose cautiously opened one eye, then the other. A tall, rather dapper man stood there, silvery-gold hair impressively fluffy, wearing… was that a cape? Speaking of crimes against fashion, he was committing a few.

  
He looked at her with a twinkle in those dark blue eyes. “Yes, well, I think it would be a safe assumption to say… run for your life!” He tugged her out into the hall in a dead run, the hiss of a broken water pipe echoing behind them.

  
How had - whatever those were - broken a water pipe? They bolted for the lift, the mannequins emerging in a massive spill behind them, sporting every fashion crime imaginable. Once again, Rose was struck by the sheer absurdity of the thoughts she'd been having.

  
Really, who had time to wonder about the dress sense of shop dummies when you were running for your life? Apparently one Rose Tyler did. Somehow, when Rose looked back, the dummies had caught up and were gaining on them. The mannequins’ movements were stiff, jerky, and yet in rhythm with each other.

  
They skidded to a precarious halt in front of the lift. The man did something that Rose didn't entirely catch, and the lift doors sprang open with almost indecent haste.

  
They piled in, the man dancing around to avoid the arm of the dummy as it swung down hard at his head. Then he caught the arm, and with practised ease, ripped the plastic arm clean off. Rose was a little horrified to note that the arm was that of a regular shop dummy, not a person in costume. “You pulled its arm off!”

  
The man broke off carefully examining the arm, and stared at her with interest and a little admiration. “Yes, I suppose I did. What makes you think it was a it?” Rose quailed a little under that intense gaze. “The arm is plastic all the way through. You wouldn't see that with a costume. It's crazy, but there you have it.”

  
The man smiled at her, and it was dazzling. “I'm the Doctor. What is your name?” Rose smiled hesitantly back. “Rose.” The Doctor rummaged through the pockets of his velvet smoking jacket, and pulled out a large detonator that really shouldn't have fit in the pocket it came out of. “Yes, well, Rose, I'm terribly sorry, but with the sheer number of Autons in the basement, I shall have to detonate the explosives I planted to prevent them from overrunning the whole of London. I do hope you can find alternate means of employment on short notice.”

  
Rose gaped at him. The man was a lunatic! Or perhaps not? People in costume didn't have solid plastic arms or the ability to split pipes. The doors slid open once more, and the Doctor offered Rose his arm in a distinctly old-fashioned gesture. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Rose.” Lashing herself for not remembering sooner, she asked, “What about Wilson?” The Doctor looked sad. “I'm afraid he met an untimely end. The Autons would have killed anyone still in here tonight. If you had not made such a racket while I was passing by, you might have met the same fate.”

  
Rose felt a great wash of sorrow for the old man. “He was set to retire.” It was so unfair. The Doctor apparently felt the same way. Rose realised that they had reached the fire exit. The Doctor gave her a gentle nudge. When she was out the door, she turned around.

  
The Doctor tipped an invisible hat to her. “Goodbye, Rose.” Then he disappeared inside the building, leaving Rose standing there, staring after him. Rose remembered to run a second later, and bolted across the deserted street.

  
When she was halfway across, the top of Henrik's exploded in a spectacular gout of red-and-orange flames. People ran and screamed, cars honked and swerved, and one perpetually drunk end of days preacher screamed about the end of the world before slinking off, embarrassed.

  
Rose stopped on the other side, and sighed. Just to prove that nothing lasts forever. Even the things that seem endless. She was about to take the bus home when she realised that she had a few questions for the Doctor, whoever he was. She settled in to wait.

  
Rose wasn't sure how much later it was that the Doctor emerged. He looked a little singed around the edges, but otherwise none the worse for wear. Rose darted across the street. She stopped in the Doctor’s path, hands on her hips. “I have more than a few questions for you.”

  
The Doctor looked none too surprised to see her. “Why am I not surprised?” He murmured, just loud enough to be heard. But he didn't shoulder past her, or do anything of the sort.

  
Rose halfway expected him to. “First of all, how did you know what they were?” The Doctor sighed. “I encountered them a long time ago. The nineteen sixties, in fact.”

  
Rose looked him up and down. “You're not that old.” He snorted. “My hearts warm at the thought.” The Doctor said sarcastically.

  
“Hearts?!” Rose said incredulously. “Yes, hearts. Now you had other questions, didn't you?” He said hastily.

  
Rose narrowed her eyes at him but let it go. “Secondly, how did you bring down that building?” The Doctor smiled. “Very simple, my dear Rose. 51st century smart explosives.” Rose wasn't too sure how she felt about that endearment, but she got the feeling that he used it on everyone, male or female, so she let it slide.

  
Rose asked her next question. “And how in the name of did you manage to rip through solid plastic?” He simply curved an eyebrow mysteriously. “Venusian karate. If that's all…”

  
Rose ran after him. “Wait! Who are you?” But he'd already slipped around a corner. Rose rounded the corner, too, but was just in time to see the Doctor closing the doors to a large police box. Rose leaned against the wall of the alley, and waited for him to come out.

  
But he never did. Instead, a moment later, a grinding wheeze echoed through the alley, and a wind picked up, knocking her back. The police box had vanished.

  
Rose trudged slowly to her bus stop. For one shining moment, she'd felt like there was something more. More than the daily grind. More than work, sleep, and eat. The Doctor would probably never come back, and didn't that just rub her the wrong way.

  
The Doctor   
He watched her from the scanner until he dematerialised. She was intriguing. Like Jo, she was sweet and probably not academic.

  
Like Liz, she was incredibly clever, and not at all afraid to speak her mind, even to the stranger who'd destroyed her place of employment.

  
He found he liked the combination. She'd make an excellent traveling companion. But he'd sworn off any further human companions. So he left her standing by where the TARDIS had been.

  
Rose   
She was flopped down, trying to disappear into a chair in the living room. Her mother was on the phone, calling anyone and everyone who'd listen. Apparently Rose was hot gossip. She hated every minute of it.

  
“-Honestly it’s aged her. Skin like an old bible. When she walked in-” The endless spouting continued.

  
The door banged open again, and Mickey barged in. “I've been phoning your mobile. It's all over the news. You could have been dead! When the shop went up-” The last bit was slightly hysterical. He dropped down and hugged Rose a little too tight.

  
She protested, and he drew back.  
“What happened?”   
“Honestly. I don't know.”   
“What made it go up?”   
“I don't know. I was outside when it went up.”

  
The last thing she wanted to tell him was that she had been saved from death by dismemberment perpetrated by a bunch of shop dummies by a stage magician-lookalike. The lookalike had proceeded to then blow up her job. And then disappeared in a police box. Yeah. That would go over well.

  
Jackie bolted into the room, looking excited. “Debbie knows a man on the Mirror. Five hundred quid for an interview.” Rose snorted in disgust. “Fascinating. Give it here.” Rose hung up, and slammed the phone down on the table, much to Jackie’s fervent protests.

  
“Well, you gotta find some way of supporting yourself. Your job’s gone kaput, and I ain't bailing you out.” Rose swallowed down the bitter taste in her mouth. They both knew what Jackie was referring to.

  
The phone rang again, and Jackie was off and running. Mickey turned to Rose, getting a glint in his eye that smacked of an ulterior motive.

  
He stood up, grabbing her teacup. “You're drinking tea? Oh no, that's no good. You're in shock, you need something stronger. You and me are going down to the pub, my treat.” Rose smiled a tired, irony laden smile. “Is there a match on?” Mickey deflated. “I was just thinking about you.”

  
Rose nodded. “There's a match on, ain't there?” Mickey now swung toward mild indignation. “That's not the point, but we could catch the last five minutes.” She flapped her hands, too tired and emotionally drained to play these games. “Go on then. I'll be fine. Really.”

  
She reached down and grabbed the plastic arm. She held it out. “Here, since I'm not able to go, take this instead. It'll help you keep a handle on the situation.” Mickey left, taking the plastic arm with him.

  
Rose's alarm buzzed promptly at seven thirty the next morning. She sat up, intending to get ready for work, before she remembered that work had been wiped off the map.

  
A second later, her mother’s voice drifted in, reminding her that her job was gone, so there was no point in getting up. Rose flopped back down and pulled the covers over her head. After a second, she sighed and rolled out of bed. She went to go get ready for her morning.

  
Rose emerged into the kitchen to start her day. She half expected her mother to be on the phone again. Last night, when she was trying to sleep, her mum had been phoning everyone within a five mile radius. After breakfast, Jackie brought up the dreaded, yet inevitable topic: jobs. “Why not try Finches? They always have jobs going.” Rose eyed Jackie with a combination of distaste and disbelief. “Oh great. The butcher's.”

  
Jackie glared at her. “Well, it might do you some good. That job has given you airs and graces.” Rose glowered silently at the apple she was rolling between her hands. At least she hadn't had to shed her jeans and trainers for heels and pencil skirts.

  
Her mother continued, unbothered by Rose's silence. “And I wasn't joking about compensation. You've had genuine shock and trauma. Arianna got two thousand quid off the council just because the old man behind the counter said she looked Greek. I mean, she is Greek, but that's not the point.” Jackie left for the kitchen, continuing to blithely chatter on.

  
Rose tuned her out. A familiar sound attracted her attention. “Mum, you're such a liar! I told you to nail that cat flap down.” Her mother protested loudly, but Rose wasn't listening. She was striding toward the front door, intent on catching the feline intruder red-pawed.

  
There was no cat in the entryway. Rose crouched down by the door, nervously noting the nails scattered on the floor. The number of nails matched the number of holes in the cat flap. Rose uneasily realised that no cat, no matter how big or intelligent, could do that.

  
The cat flap abruptly jerked inwards. As if something or someone were on the other side. Rose jumped. Then leaned down to open it up and peer out. A shock of bouffant silver hair and two startled blue eyes stared right back at her. Rose shot to her feet and yanked open the door.

  
The Doctor stood there, looking more than a bit shocked to see her. “What are you doing here, Rose?” Rose was pretty surprised to see him herself. But she was also glad. “I live here.” She said snarkily. “What are you doing here?”

  
The Doctor looked vaguely dismayed. “I was following a signal. You wouldn't by any chance be a facsimile of the real Rose, would you?” He took her hand, gently squeezed. “No. You have a skeletal structure. You are certainly not a facsimile.”

  
The Doctor spun on his heel to leave. “Goodbye, Rose. I won't be seeing you again, I don't think.” Rose had had enough of that. She grabbed the Doctor and pulled him into the apartment. “You. Inside.”

  
She led him down the hall a short distance before poking her head into Jackie’s room. “It's about last night. It'll only take a few minutes.” Jackie’s eyes focused on the Doctor, who loomed over Rose's shoulder.

  
She quickly dropped the towel from her head, and fluffed her hair flirtatiously. “I'm in my dressing gown.” “So you are.” Rose rolled her eyes. Jackie continued, obviously hopeful of her next conquest. “There's a strange man in my bedroom.” “So there is.” “Anything could happen.” The Doctor turned away to hide his expression of having bitten into a lemon. “No.”

  
The Doctor   
“Would you like coffee?” Rose asked him. “No thank you. I'm fine.” The Doctor responded, and smiled, heading for the living room. He briefly riffled through a cheap tabloid before setting it down again.

  
Moving over to the window, he picked up a stack of letters, and flicked through them. Rose Tyler. So that was her full name. The Doctor could hear the rustle and clink of Rose moving about in the kitchen.

  
Abruptly a loud, persistent hum came from the pocket of his jacket. The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver, and turned in a circle, holding it aloft. The intensity of the hum of the sonic screwdriver increased exponentially as he passed it over the area between wall and sofa.

  
He crouched down, and saw it. It was the plastic arm he'd given Rose last night. The Doctor had a moment to wonder if this was the reason that he couldn't gracefully extricate himself from the company of a potential traveling companion, before the hand launched itself at him, horror movie-style.

  
He went down, attempting to remove it from his throat. Lying there, sprawled out across Rose Tyler's floor, with a plastic arm attempting to strangle him to death, the Doctor had a moment to think that this was an awfully undignified way for someone of his age to die.

  
Then Rose walked into the room, spotted him lying on the floor, struggling with the plastic arm, and rolled her eyes. She set down her cup of tea, and attempted to yank the arm away from his throat. When she couldn't, and presumably felt the movement of the arm, her eyes widened.

  
Rose pulled harder, and the Doctor used the force of her struggles to free him as leverage to spring to his feet. They whirled and staggered around the living room in some simulacrum of a drunken dance. Finally they broke apart, Rose looking rather shocked to be holding a wriggling plastic arm.

  
He didn't blame her one bit. This situation was a bit surreal, even for him. He quickly grabbed the plastic arm, and deactivated it with a quick burst of the sonic screwdriver. He didn't want the idiotic thing getting any ideas about strangling the person holding it to make a quick getaway.

  
Rose looked him over. “Are you okay? That thing was trying to strangle you.” He smiled. “I'm quite alright, my dear.” He didn't bother to tell her about his respiratory bypass, and how he would have been alright for another ten minutes or so.

  
Rose   
She was rather surprised to note that despite the obvious marks on his neck, and their wild dance around the living room, the Doctor did not seem even slightly winded. Yet another mystery to file away in the gigantic file that was the Doctor.

  
Right now, he was looking at the piece of plastic with a peculiar expression on his expressive face. “Well, then. With any luck, this should be just what I need to trace the signal of the overriding Nestene Consciousness. Then I can go about stopping it.”

  
Rose nodded absently, not quite hearing him. “Wait. What?” The Doctor was already heading for the door. “Goodbye, Rose.” For the second time in two days, Rose ran to catch up to the Doctor. He was almost to the stairwell.

  
“You can't just go swanning off!” The Doctor didn't slacken his pace one bit. “Why not?” The question caught Rose off guard. She didn't have an answer. He continued blithely. “Because this is what I do. Right a few wrongs, save anyone or anything from a single person to a planet, and ‘swan off’ as you put it.”

  
Dear lord. He'd said planet. By now, they were exiting the building and heading toward the playground.   
“Who are you?”   
“The Doctor.”   
“Just the Doctor?”   
He smiled. “Just the Doctor.”   
“What, is that supposed to sound impressive or something?”

  
The Doctor tilted his head. “I chose that name a long time ago to signify a promise to help people. Sometimes I keep that promise, other times I fail utterly, but I keep trying.” He was still prevaricating, dancing around the point. Rose stepped closer to him.

  
“Who are you?” She asked again, more quietly. He took her hand. “Do you remember when you were a child, and they told you the Earth was revolving, and you just couldn't quite bring yourself to believe it?” She nodded, unable to tear her gaze away from his.

  
“I can feel it. Feel the Earth spinning around at a thousand miles an hour. Sense the Earth whirling around the sun at sixty seven thousand miles per hour. And here we are, clinging to the skin of this planet. And if you let go-” He dropped her hand. “That is who I am. Now do great things, Rose Tyler.”

  
He strode away, disappearing into his strange police box. For just one second, Rose was tempted to run after him. To jump in the police box before it disappeared. But then the moment vanished, and along with it, the police box.

  
Rose trudged back to her apartment, trying to put the Doctor out of her mind. She wasn't entirely successful. 


	2. Rose: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and the Doctor reunite again. The Nestene Consciousness pops up yet again. Trouble ensues.

She'd gotten on the internet to see if she could find anything about the Doctor. Rose found a poster with the Doctor's face on it, saying ‘Have you seen this man? Call Clive for details.’

  
That seemed promising, and why not? Rose found herself being led out to said Clive’s garden shed. Maybe not so promising, after all.

  
Rose took a look around the gloomy little shed. It was perhaps eight by ten feet, and was a cluttered mess. A world map with coloured push pins stuck in it occupied one wall.

  
“A lot of this stuff’s quite sensitive.” Clive explained as he pulled down a locked metal box from a wire storage rack. “Couldn't just send it to you. It might get intercepted.” Rose wasn't sure if this was more paranoia or not. “By who?” Clive unlocked the box. “The government. There's proof, if you can call anything involving him that, that he worked for them in the seventies.”

  
Rose tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling increasingly nervous. Would this really get her anywhere? “Like James Bond?”

  
Clive shuffled the papers into a semblance of order. “In a way, I suppose. You see, if you dig deep enough, keep a lively mind, this Doctor keeps cropping up everywhere. Political diaries, conspiracy theories, even ghost stories.”

  
I bet that second one is where you come in, Rose thought cynically.

  
“No first name, no last name, just ‘the Doctor’. And the title doesn't seem to belong to one man or one generation. I've counted three different men throughout history that carry the title, but the same face pops up in different eras, so I believe that the title is passed between father and son. See?” He whipped out a stack of photos, and offered them to Rose.

  
They showed several pivotal events in history, but none of the men circled in the photos were her Doctor. Still she kept shuffling. She finally came across a photo of the Doctor, the proper Doctor.

  
He was standing against the backdrop of a wheat field, just as ridiculously dressed as ever, his arm around a pretty, petite blonde girl. He and the girl were smiling at each other as if they'd just shared a secret joke. There might not be love there, but there was certainly staunch friendship.

  
“That one was taken in the early nineteen seventies.” Clive said, pointing to the photo Rose was surveying. “Here's some more.” He handed her another stack of photos.

  
There were several more of the proper Doctor. The rest it was hard to tell on. She handed the photographs back, feeling somewhat discouraged, and Clive looked at her gravely.

  
“Those that have a name and a family, a time and a place associated with them, they hardly ever return. Or he is too much to bear remembering, so they just try to forget him. Often, they simply don't survive an encounter with him to talk. If you've met the Doctor, Rose, then it's safe to say that something terrible is going to happen.”

  
She turned to leave, vaguely rattled by his words. But Clive grabbed her wrist with bruising strength. “Be careful, Rose. Those who call themselves ‘Doctor’ do not seem of this world. They could be immortal, or an alien. But one thing is for certain, if the Doctor is making house calls, then God help you.”

Mickey sat in the car, having a one sided staring contest with a dustbin. He was winning, but only by dint of the dustbin not having any eyes.

  
He huffed angrily and stared out into the street. Since when did Rose become obsessed with conspiracy theories, anyway? The loud rasp of plastic on pavement interrupted his thoughts. He slowly turned around. Was it just his imagination, or had that dustbin moved forward? No, it must be his imagination.

  
He glared at the dustbin. Ever so slowly, it inched forward a few inches. What the heck? Must be some kind of prank. Mickey hopped out of the car, and went to go check for strings. Bracing his hands on the lid, Mickey opened it. Nothing but a few scraps of cardboard.

  
He went to pull away, and abruptly found he couldn't. He pulled one direction, the dustbin pulled the other. The dustbin allowed him to think that he was winning the contest of wills, then it pulled him in. Mickey was gone.

Grateful to have escaped, Rose rounded the side of Mickey’s car. She dropped down in the front seat with a sigh, deliberately not looking at Mickey while she slowed her racing heart and regained some semblance of calm. “Alright, he was a nutter. Off his head, complete online conspiracy freak. You win.”

  
The Doctor had saved her life. Perhaps the forces that he tangled with were dangerous, but she didn't feel like Doctor himself was dangerous. He'd seemed secretly tired, worn down by the world but warm. Rose thought Clive's gloom and doom attitude was overkill.

  
Trying to distract herself, Rose murmured, “What're we going to do tonight? I fancy a pizza.” Food would be really nice after the day she'd had.

  
Mickey started stuttering crazily. “Pizzaaaa. P-p-pizza. Pizza!” Well, that was weird. It was almost as if he was trying out the word for the first time. Rose slid one eye open. Mickey sat there, grinning flirtatiously. There was something wrong about him. Rose couldn't quite tell what.

  
“Or Chinese.” She offered, testing. “Pizza!” Mickey half shouted gleefully. “Alrighty then.” Rose said sarcastically. He put the car into gear, swerving into the road, and Rose yelped. “Oi, Micks, what's wrong with you?”

  
Mickey cracked his neck with a distinctly plastic-y pop. “Nothing, babe, sugar, sweetheart.” He cooed. Not that that wasn't creepy. There was definitely something off about him.

  
_“If you've met the Doctor, Rose, then it's safe to say something terrible is going to happen.”_

  
Clive's words swirled around her brain for the entire ride there.

Rose speared her food idly with her fork. “D’you think I should try the hospital?” Mickey was still far too monosyllabic, and he hadn't glanced at the TV once, despite there being a match on.

  
No reply, so she continued. “Suki said they've got jobs going in the cantina. Or maybe I should try to go back and get my A-levels. I could try going to college, become a secretary. Pretty much anything is better than working at the butchers or dishing out chips. What do you think?”

  
Mickey grinned that horrible grin. “Where did you meet this Doctor?” A violent spectre passed over his eyes.

  
It scared Rose. “Seriously? Bringing that up now?” “Because I reckon it started back at the shop, am I right? He had something to do with that?” Rose looked away, playing with a strand of hair. “No.”

  
“Come on.” Mickey wheedled. “Sorta.” Rose admitted. “What was he doing there?” Mickey enquired. “I dunno. But if I talk about him much more, I'll end up sounding like that nutter Clive, all convinced that the Doctor is a government agent or a sign of the world ending.”

  
“But you can trust me, sweetheart! Babe, sugar, sweetheart.” Mickey said in that sweet-as-poisoned-sugar tone. The hairs on the back of Rose's neck stood straight up, and a chill ran down her spine. “You can tell me anything. Now tell me what the Doctor is planning, and I can help you. Because that's all I really want to do. Sweetheart, babe, sugar, sweetheart.”

  
Rose's hand fell to the table, toying seemingly idly with the steak knife lying there. Because she was certain now that somehow, this was not the Mickey she had known since childhood. She might not survive this, but she was going to do as much damage as possible before she went out.

  
A familiar male voice made her drop the knife out of sheer relief. “Your champagne?”

  
Mickey didn't look up. “We didn't order any champagne.” He growled, not looking away from Rose.

  
The Doctor didn't give up. “Miss, your champagne?” Playing along with whatever the Doctor was planning, Rose kept her eyes on Mickey as if nothing were wrong. “We didn't order any champagne.” Behind her, the Doctor violently shook the bottle. “Such a shame. You looked like you were going to celebrate something.”

  
Then things began to happen very fast. Mickey looked up, and said with vicious glee, “Gotcha!”

  
The Doctor unwound the wire from around the neck of the bottle, and the cork shot out, hitting Mickey straight in the forehead. His face rippled and sloshed like a disturbed pond, and Mickey worked his jaw furiously for a few seconds before spitting out the cork onto the table.

  
He raised his hand, as if to slap the table. “Anyway.” He said. His hand turned into a slab of solid plastic on the way down. The table shattered in a shower of glass and splinters. He sprang to his feet with grace quite out of character.

  
Mickey launched himself at the Doctor, who evaded the attack with ease, and placed a foot in the centre of Mickey’s chest. The Doctor wrapped his arms around Mickey's neck, and a horrible tug of war began. At this, the rest of the restaurant, which had been frozen, erupted into screaming and pandemonium.

  
Finally, with an awful pop, the Mickey thing’s head came clean off, revealing… solid plastic? Rose ran to the opposite wall, and triggered the fire alarm. “Everybody out!” She yelled. Headless fake Mickey continued to smash tables.

  
The restaurant emptied quickly, proving that she really hadn't needed to say anything. It left the headless thing still smashing tables in a vain attempt to kill them, while the Doctor stood there, still clutching the head.

  
The Doctor abruptly ran toward her, and took her hand. “Run!” He said, and there was a fierce undercurrent of joy to his tone. They ran out of the restaurant proper, and into the kitchen. From there, they exited through the back door.

  
The Doctor kept the door propped shut with one hip while removing the clunky silver cylinder from earlier from his pocket. He pointed it at the door, and it emitted sparks and a loud hum.

  
Meanwhile, Rose was running. Beating her fists on the door of the police box, she yelled, “Come on Doctor! I know that this police box can fly or whatever. Let's get out of here before that thing breaks down the door.” The Doctor strolled over. All too slowly, in Rose's opinion.

  
He wore an expression somewhere between joviality and offense. “Gladly, my dear. I don't particularly care to die anymore than you do. And it doesn't fly, it dematerialises.” The Doctor casually gestured for Rose to step aside, and reluctantly, she did, knowing that he was a lot more likely to be able to unlock it than she was.

  
He put the key to the lock, and the door opened with a small creak. “Please come inside. I'll explain the rest in a moment.” The Doctor stepped inside, and she reluctantly followed.

  
She wasn't expecting to find a gigantic control room jammed into the small, wooden outside. It was gleaming white, massive, and the walls had circular roundels carved into them. It was very alien. A central console was the icing on the cake.

  
It's a spaceship, Rose thought, it must be! While she had been coming to that conclusion, the Doctor had been hard at work wiring the plastic head into the console.

  
He turned to her, hands stuck deep into his pockets. “Now, then. What do you wish to know?” Rose looked at him hesitantly. “Is it alien?” He nodded, somewhat encouragingly. “Yes, she is. And sentient and alive too. She's called the TARDIS.” Rose mulled that over. “Are you alien?” He looked at her thoughtfully, gauging her reaction. “Yes, my dear Rose, I am. I am what's known as a Time Lord.”

  
Rose decided to lighten up the situation a bit. “Bit pompous.” She teased. The Doctor gave her a relieved smile. “I always thought so.”

  
She peered over his shoulder. “Is it supposed to be melting?” The Doctor looked nonplussed for a second, then his expression morphed into one of sheer horror. “Is what- Good grief!” He whipped around, and began frantically pressing buttons. “Nonononono!”

  
The TARDIS began to tilt wildly, and emit the same groaning wheeze that she'd heard on the other two occasions. Rose slid to and fro, and felt a rush of involuntary excitement curl her lips up at the corners. She, the girl from the Estates, was going on some kind of world-saving adventure! With a final great shudder, the TARDIS fell still.

The Doctor was rubbing his chin in thought. “The signal cut off, which should mean we're still in the time vortex. I believe-” Rose's voice cut him off mid-sentence. “What time vortex? If it is, it looks an awful lot like London.” The Doctor started, and turned around fast enough that he would have given himself whiplash with human biology.

  
Rose was standing by the open door. “Rose! First rule of TARDIS travel is never to open the doors before a full environment scan.” He strode briskly over to join her.

  
The Doctor could feel her looking at him, but he was too busy puzzling over the TARDIS’s unusual behaviour. “If the signal cut off, but we're here, in a different part of London…”

  
He abruptly let out a cry of realisation, startling Rose. “Oh, that clever old girl! She must've dropped us as close to the signal as possible! We just have to find it.”

  
Rose looked edgy, like she'd just remembered something. “Doctor, that headless thing isn't still trying to kill everything in London, is it?” The Doctor waved a hand in reassurance. “It melted with the head. No need to worry. It won't have harmed anyone.”

  
Rose put a hand to her mouth, choking on a sob. “Is Mickey dead?” The Doctor put a hand on her shoulder. “He's safe for the moment. The fact is, Autons tend to keep the original alive to make the copy. Now we just need to find him, and stop the Nestene Consciousness. Simple enough, eh?”

  
Rose gave him a watery smile, and he felt less guilty. “To that end, I've got this. Antiplastic.” He pulled a clear vial filled with transparent blue liquid out of his jacket pocket. Rose looked at it curiously, then at him. “Antiplastic?” He smiled. “Antiplastic. Hopefully it will only be a negotiation tool, but if necessary I will use it.”

  
The Doctor detested violence. He hoped it wouldn't be necessary. “Now for the transmitter.” He stepped out of the TARDIS. “It should be something round and massive. Like a dish. Like a wheel.”

Rose got out of the TARDIS, and nearly rolled her eyes in exasperation. For an alien super genius he could be pretty oblivious. Right over his shoulder, the London Eye twinkled in all its nighttime splendour.

  
Round. Check. Massive. Check. Like a wheel. Check. Three out of four was pretty good odds that it was what they were looking for. She raised her eyebrows at him, and nodded over his shoulder.

  
He turned around, then turned back with a blank look on his face. Rose resisted the urge to sigh, and repeated the process. The Doctor looked back over his shoulder, but this time, when he turned around, there was dawning comprehension on his face.

  
His mobile eyebrows shot up, and a grin spread across his face. “You're brilliant, both of you!” He patted Rose's shoulder, and reached out to stroke the TARDIS’s smudged paint.

  
The Doctor held out a hand to Rose. “Shall we finish this? Rescue your nitwit of a boyfriend and save the world from an invasion?” Rose was about to protest the nitwit bit, but she just smiled at the Doctor and took his hand. It was true. Mickey was kind of a nitwit sometimes.

  
They ran hand in hand down the street, chasing the lights of the Eye. Despite their great disparity in height, their strides matched almost perfectly. Rose felt like she'd found that friend she'd always wanted. She laughed out of sheer delight, and the Doctor's answering laughter rang out.

  
At last they stood directly beneath the Eye. Dropping her hand, the Doctor leaned over the railing. Rose followed suit. “We're looking for some kind of maintenance panel or manhole cover.” Spotting it, Rose nodded at a completely ordinary manhole cover. “Like that?” The Doctor smiled. “Exactly like that.” Together, they descended the stairs.

  
Rose was about to offer her help in lifting the manhole cover, but the Doctor must've been stronger than he looked, because he lifted the cover with ease. He pulled back the cover to expose a reddish, hellfire glow and sheets of billowing whitish steam that looked very reassuring. Veeeery reassuring. “Looks welcoming.” Rose said sarcastically.

  
The Doctor just raised an eyebrow. She began to climb down, taking the Doctor's hand as she went. She didn't have the heart to tell him that she could have managed on her own. He followed her down, and took the lead once more. The Doctor glanced over his shoulder to check that Rose was following.

  
Then he unlocked the door, stepping through warily. Rose followed closely enough that her nose occasionally knocked into the velvet of his coat. She was too anxious to give a darn about personal space. This place was giving her the creeps.

  
The room that they emerged into was more of a cavern, really. Lit by more of that ambient reddish orange glow, the entire thing was a cube several hundred feet wide, crisscrossed by rusted catwalks. In a pit in the centre, roiled and seethed some kind of liquid plastic. The way it moved seemed almost… alive. “What is that?” Rose asked quietly.

  
The Doctor gestured at it. “Oh, that is the Nestene Consciousness. The controlling intelligence that orders around all the Autons.” Rose shivered slightly. She really didn't want to attract that thing’s attention. “What're we going to do?” The Doctor made for a set of stairs leading to the vat. “I am going to go negotiate with it.”

  
Rose smothered a yelp. “How are you going to do that?” The Doctor smiled at her. “Why, politely, of course. Now you stay here.” Rose trotted after him. “Hell no.” The Doctor sighed, then smiled. “Of course not. I do need backup in case things go badly, anyway.”

  
They trotted down the wire mesh steps in companionable silence. Rose stopped at the base of the stairs, but the Doctor continued on to the railing at the edge of the pit. He confidently leaned over the edge, which attracted the attention of several shop dummies.

  
A harsh voice rasped from the shadows, bringing Rose's head right around. “Rose!” It was Mickey. Other than sounding like he'd had a bout of pneumonia, Mickey seemed alright. She hurried over to him, and immediately wrinkled her nose at the stench that came off of him in waves. “Mickey, you stink.” Was the first thing that tripped off her tongue.

  
“Rose! That stuff in the vat, it talks! It's alive.” Mickey sounded terrified. The Doctor’s somewhat irritated tones rang out. “Yes, and if you please, I'm attempting to have a discussion with it.”

  
Turning back to the vat, the Doctor spoke. Something in his voice altered, and Rose no longer saw the gentle, kind man who appeared in his early fifties, but the powerful alien genius with the impossible ship he called TARDIS.

  
“I seek an audience with the Nestene Consciousness under peaceful contract in accordance with convention fifteen of the Shadow Proclamation.” The thing in the vat moved about, producing a low gurgle. The Doctor inclined his head. “Thank you. If I might observe, you have invaded this planet by means of warped shunt technology. Please use it once more to leave the planet.”

  
The vat let out another gurgle. It sounded almost righteously outraged. How absurd. The Doctor sounded quite exasperated himself. “There is no way you can tell me that you have a constitutional right to be here. This is an invasion, simple as that.”

  
The thing let out a hiss like an angry tiger, and reared up. The Doctor was having none of it. “I was talking! Do wait your turn like a civilised being. Now then, your presence here will severely stunt the growth of the planet and its people. Not to mention disrupting the Web of Time will bring the Time Lords down on your collective consciousness. And-”

  
Rose shouted out a warning, but she was too late. The two shop dummies had the Doctor held fast. One searched his pockets, pulling out the antiplastic, while the other held his arms.

  
At the sight of the antiplastic, the Nestene Consciousness let out a series of angry gurgles. The Doctor struggled in their grip, shooting an anguished glance at Rose. “I was only trying to help! I swear, that's all I was trying to do!” Rose's heart was in her throat, but the situation only devolved from there.

  
Behind them, a set of doors slid open, revealing the TARDIS. The Doctor struggled harder. “I'm not like that lot!” The Nestene Consciousness roared, and blue crackled over it in a dome of lightning.

  
“What's it doing?” Rose yelled, a touch of panic colouring her voice. The Doctor seemed equally upset. “It's identified the TARDIS as Time Lord technology, and it's terrified. It's activating the transmitter, and raising the invasion force. You have to get out, now!”

  
Mickey ran past her, and she reluctantly followed. As they headed past the TARDIS to reach the stairs, the whole place shook violently, and a gigantic chunk of concrete fell, crushing the stairs flat. Rose ran to the TARDIS, frantically yanking on the door. It wouldn't budge.

  
Meanwhile, Mickey was running back and forth, searching for an exit. “Come on, Rose, you can't do anything.” He yelled at her. For a second she believed him. What could she, the chav from the Estates, do to save the Doctor? Everything, she snarled at the self doubt.

  
Rose glanced back at the Doctor. He was still struggling madly, but couldn't quite seem to get free of his plastic captors.

  
Quite by chance, her roving eyes found a catwalk that didn't lead to an exit. She noted the axe mounted on the wall, and the long chain affixed to the ceiling at one end and attached to the wall at the other. A suicidal, insane, completely genius idea was brewing in her brain.

  
She bolted up the stairs, and heaved the axe off the wall. She hauled it up onto her shoulder. “I might have no A-levels.” She brought the axe down. “No job.” Rose brought the axe down yet again. “No future.” The moorings broke. “I'll tell you what I do have. Jericho junior school under sevens gymnastics team. I got the bronze.” Wrapping the chain around her arm, Rose sprang lightly over the railing of the catwalk, and swung.

  
She crashed into the Auton holding the antiplastic first, sending it and the antiplastic spinning into the pit. Suddenly free, the Doctor did something to fast for Rose to see, and the second Auton sank to the ground in a splintering of broken plastic.

  
Rose came back around, but the Doctor was ready for her. He pulled her off the chain, enveloping her in a tight hug. “That was absolutely amazing! You were brilliant back there.” After a second, he set her down.

  
The cavern rumbled again, and the Doctor looked around. “It would probably be wise to leave. The Nestene Consciousness was already unstable, and the antiplastic isn't improving matters.”

  
On their way to the TARDIS, they passed Mickey, who was still running about, chasing a nonexistent exit. “What are you doing?” He asked. Rose merely smiled and gestured for him to follow.

  
He did, and looked like he was about to faint. “Holy shit.” Mickey whispered. Rose just followed the Doctor to the console. Mickey's legs promptly gave out, and he collapsed like a wet noodle onto the TARDIS floor.

  
“Fat lot of good you were.” Rose said to Mickey. She turned to the Doctor, a teasing glint in her eye. “You weren't much better.”

  
The Doctor looked down at the console. “I would have been dead without you.” He looked up, and Rose got the sense that this was the closest he'd ever come to pleading. “You could travel with me. See all of time and space.”

  
Rose thought about it for a moment, and realised she was ready to leap. She wasn't about to spend the rest of her life working at a dead end job, trying to make ends meet. She wasn't about to let the highlight of her day be a lunch break or a little telly before bed. No. Rose was ready to live her own life. “Yes.” Said Rose slowly. “I'd love to.”

  
The Doctor smiled and the expression lit up his face. He hit a switch, and the TARDIS disappeared. They dropped Mickey off near the Estates. He scrambled out of there after a few muttered comments.

  
Then the TARDIS dematerialised once again. And why wouldn't it? The Doctor and Rose had the whole universe to explore. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, questions, or comments are always appreciated. Until next time!


End file.
